


I Don't Know Why (I Didn't Think of This Before)

by doodle



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Butt Plugs, Comeplay, Felching, Kink Meme, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, PWP, Plot What Plot, Public Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 09:18:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodle/pseuds/doodle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The sight of you, slick and open and filled with my come. I didn’t think it could be so attractive, bodily fluids, but it is.</i></p><p>Sherlock indulges himself, and John. (In some shameless, and filthy, porn.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Know Why (I Didn't Think of This Before)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to a kinkmeme request, the link to which I have managed to lose in the several months it has taken me to post this. I hope you like this, kinky little nonny, should you ever find it.
> 
> Thank you to the delightful alizarin_nyc for the beta!

_Oh god._

John's vision goes white and little fuzzy around the edges. A sharp spark of heat and pleasure rushes up through his spine to buzz across his skin. He holds his breath as he moves again, bites down a groan as the plug rubs across his prostate and his cock twitches in interest.

 _Christ._ John can't help but think that now is not the time or the place for his recovery time to go back to what it was in his early twenties.

 

 _"Fuck, yes, harder,” John cries out, trying to muffle the sound with his face buried in his pillow. “Fuck, that’s it.”_

 _Sherlock’s hand tightens its grip on John's hip as he drags John back into each of his thrusts. It's deep and rough and so fucking good John can barely think, can barely breathe. There's only Sherlock, who'd shoved him down on the bed and fingered him open the minute they got home, and the hot rush of his orgasm building._

 _"How close are you?" Sherlock growls, biting at the nape of John's neck._

 _“Fuck,” John chokes out as Sherlock hits his prostate. “Close. Sherlock, please,” John begs as Sherlock does it again._

 _He’s so close, hanging on the edge and then Sherlock’s long fingers curl around him. All it takes is two strokes and John’s coming so hard it’s almost blinding._

 

"You alright, John?" Lestrade asks from the other side of his desk, inside his small Scotland Yard office.

John has clearly not been doing a very good job of looking contrite and nodding and making the appropriate noises in the right places. Of course, it would be hard to pay attention half an hour after being shagged into a sweaty, gasping needy mess by Sherlock Holmes under normal circumstances. Considering the plug teasing against his prostate, and the taste and smell of Sherlock _everywhere_ , it’s impossible for anything coming out of Lestrade's mouth to be little more than white noise.

John doesn't trust his voice not to be anything other than a whine if he opens his mouth. He can see Sherlock out the corner of his eye and from the hint of a smirk he's aiming in John's direction he knows _exactly_ what's going on.

"No, he's not," Sherlock intervenes sharply. "John has aggravated his shoulder, the one that was _shot_ during the war. Naturally, he's being very stoic about it but he's currently in rather a lot of pain."

It's a perfectly executed lie on Sherlock's part and a relief rushes through John. The plug shifts again and the world explodes into heat and bright lights and _oh fuck yes_. John can feel his cheeks burning and Lestrade looks sympathetic at his supposed shame and discomfort.

John swallows down the hysterical laughter that's threatening to escape before it gives him away.

"Bollocks. I'm sorry, John. You should have said something, or made him come on his own," Lestrade says with a sincere contrition John is glad of, even if he doesn't deserve it. Lestrade's eyes flick over to Sherlock, saying what they often do. _Don't let Sherlock embarrass you._

 _You have no idea,_ John thinks to himself.

"I'll let you go, for now,” Lestrade offers, nodding to the door. John has never been so glad to hear anything in his life. "But don't think this talk is over. If you steal from another crime scene, that's it, Sherlock, you hear me?"

Sherlock nods and Lestrade seems to ignore the fact it’s not sincere. John doesn’t care, though he tries not to show it. The plug is still rubbing, slick and teasing, against his prostate and it’s all he can do not to drop his trousers and demand Sherlock fuck him over Lestrade’s desk until he comes again.

Sherlock stands and looks to him. "Come along, John. We need to get you taken care of."

 

 _John whimpers softly into his pillow as Sherlock pulls out, he's still buzzing with the heat of orgasm and Sherlock pressed against the length of his back. Heaving in deep, panting breaths John waits for his heart to stop pounding and tries to move._

 _Sherlock stops him, pressing wet, breathy kisses down John's spine. Whispering “stay” into John’s skin as he moves lower._

 _"Fuck," John gasps, as Sherlock's thumb rubs over his hole, sensitive and slick with lube and come._

 _“I wish you could see yourself like this John,” Sherlock says, easing his thumb in and then back out of John. It sends warm, hazy aftershocks of pleasure through him and he rocks back into Sherlock, breath hitching with each careful touch._

 _“Sherlock,” John whimpers, completely wrecked as sharp teeth bite at his arse cheek and dexterous fingers smear come over his hole._

 _“I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before,” Sherlock continues, breath hot against John’s skin._

 _John braces himself on his elbows. His knees are already shaky from orgasm and Sherlock is turning everything to jelly with each wonderful, torturous swipe and stroke._

 _“The sight of you, slick and open and filled with my come. I didn’t think it could be so attractive, bodily fluids, but it is,” Sherlock says, slipping two fingers inside John, where he can feel Sherlock and come and_ yes, _this was why he demanded they get tested. “Looking at you, knowing you can feel this inside you, makes me want to bend you over and fuck you all over again.”_

 _“Oh god,” John whimpers. It’s so hot he thinks if he were capable of coming again so soon he would, just at the thought of it._

 _Then the pressure of Sherlock’s thumb is gone and it’s replaced by something else. It’s not Sherlock’s cock, his recovery time isn't that fast and_ oh god _, it’s a butt plug. Sherlock eases it in, until it’s sitting snugly inside John and ghosting against his prostate. The world could end and John wouldn't care._

 _“I’m going to fuck you, John, and you’re going to keep this in until I do. Until I’m ready to pull it out and press back inside you, still open and slick with my come. Do you object?”_

 _“Oh fuck, no,” John groans, slipping out of Sherlock’s grip to drag him into a kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue and more needy than most of their post-sex kisses, but this is the first time Sherlock has plugged John full of his come. It’s so hot John thinks he might go mad with anticipation waiting for Sherlock to follow through._

 _“Good,” Sherlock says with a self-satisfied smirk. John kisses him again, because he bloody well deserves it._

 _“Now get dressed, Lestrade wants to see us.”_

 _“I hope by taking care of, you mean keeping your promise and taking this plug out and shagging me senseless,” John says in a low voice as they wait for the lifts to arrive._

 _Sherlock swallows. Hard._

 _John smirks in victory, Sherlock isn’t the only one who can play. John's been on the edge of getting hard for the last half an hour and after Sherlock’s teasing in Lestrade’s office he _wants_._

The dark, hungry gleam in Sherlock’s eye tells John he’s not the only one.

The lift pings as it arrives and Sherlock’s gaze flicks between it and John for only a second before his fingers are curled tightly around John’s wrist and he’s dragging John away from the lift rather than into it.

“Do you have any idea how much I want you right now?” Sherlock growls into John’s ear, casting a careful eye up and down the corridor before pushing John into the floor's disabled toilet and locking the door.

“Fair idea, yeah,” John gasps as Sherlock manhandles him inside the small room, arranging him so he’s braced against the wall and his legs are apart.

“Just _knowing_ ,” Sherlock says, fingers making quick work of John’s belt and flies to push his jeans and underwear down to his ankles. Sherlock pulls the plug out, quickly but carefully and John hears his sharp intake of breath. “ _John_ , please, _please_ , tell me you’re ready.”

“God yes, I’m ready,” John nods. He’s hard and aching and _desperate_ for Sherlock to follow through, to get on with what he’s been thinking about ever since they got in the taxi to Scotland Yard. “Do it. Fuck me.”

“Yes,” Sherlock hisses in John’s ear as he eases in, stretching John open again with steady press of his cock until he’s inside. Until John’s full of Sherlock and has to bite the back of his hand to stop himself from making too much noise, it’s _so fucking good_.

John pushes back against Sherlock, a silent demand for him to move, for _more_. Sherlock doesn’t tease, just pulls back to slam into John and he can't stop the satisfied moan that escapes as Sherlock fucks him. It’s hard and fast and just this side of rough. It's _perfect_ and John can hardly breathe as Sherlock pushes him closer and closer to the edge.

“Not yet. Wait," Sherlock commands, biting John's earlobe as his hips snap erratically and then Sherlock's coming. His is breath hot and damp against the back of John's neck as he pulses inside him with a choked groan of John's name.

"Wait," Sherlock says again in a shaky breath as John moves to stroke himself. John’s hanging on the edge of orgasm and desperate to come.

He whimpers, but does as he's told, pulling in deep and heaving breaths. Then hears the soft thud of Sherlock dropping to his knees and _oh god_ it’s difficult to breathe all over again. John cranes his neck to look over his shoulder and Sherlock meets his eyes, heavy lidded and full of need, and then leans in.

“Fuck,” John gasps and his head falls forward, smacking into the wall with a loud thump and he doesn't care.

It's impossible _to_ care with Sherlock's amazing, talented tongue licking over his hole. John hears Sherlock let out an obscene moan of pleasure and then his tongue, _hot_ and _so fucking good_ is pressing in. Lapping and licking and working around his hole, and John can't stop his hips from pushing back into the touch.

"Oh god, Sherlock, _please_ ," John begs, not surprised by just how broken his voice sounds. Not when Sherlock's dexterous tongue is driving him insane, not when he knows why Sherlock is groaning ecstatically into his skin.

Sherlock's fingers wrap around John's cock and it only takes three strokes and John is coming harder than he thought was possible. His whole world is reduced to _oh god_ and _yes_ and shudders of white hot pleasure as Sherlock works him through it. With careful strokes and tender, almost teasing licks until John's legs are shaking.

He gives up on trying to stand. Still gasping for breath, and with his heart pounding he’s entirely wrecked by Sherlock. John slumps against the wall and it only takes a moment for Sherlock to press himself against John's back. He wraps his arms around John's waist and dots butterfly soft kisses down his neck as he waits for John to recover.

"That was," John tries but his brain still feels hazy, full of cotton wool.

"It was rather," Sherlock answers sounding incredibly pleased with himself and John still doesn't mind. He's pretty pleased with Sherlock too.

John's limbs are heavy and sluggish and he feels less than coordinated as he attempts to redress himself. He's relieved when Sherlock stops him, offering. "Let me."

Then the plug is being pushed back in and John doesn't even try to contain his needy whine. He should have known.

Sherlock fixes John's clothes and then they're face to face. Sherlock meets John's probably a bit dopey and very shagged out grin with one of his own, dirty and so very perfect. John can't resist kissing him, so doesn't. It's slow but filthy and John's breathing hard when they break apart. Sherlock's lips are red and his cheeks are flushed, and John doesn't want to think about what a state he's in. It won't take a consulting detective to know what they've been up to if they meet anyone in the corridor.

Sherlock flicks the door lock open and asks, "Home for round three?"

Suddenly John doesn't care who knows what they've been doing. Sherlock has the look on his face that says he has plans. Big plans.

"Taxi?"

Sherlock's eyes sparkle. "Without a doubt."


End file.
